


Any Way You Want It

by TheUniverse_Smiles



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Bog/Marianne - Freeform, Dawn - Freeform, F/M, Flirting, Human AU, Lemon, Modern AU, Music, Oral, Romance, Sex, Strange Magic, Sunny - Freeform, Wedding, bagpipes, bog king - Freeform, butterfly bog, marianne - Freeform, roland - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverse_Smiles/pseuds/TheUniverse_Smiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bog Thornhill is the lead piper in the band performing at Dawn and Sunny's wedding. After meeting him under the worst possible circumstances, Marianne is soon captivated by his soothing voice and talented fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Way You Want It

Marianne was being a pill, and she knew it. She had spent the entire morning moping around in her bridesmaid dress while the rest of the wedding party rushed past her in a merry frenzy. Her father begged her every twenty minutes to “try and at least _look_ happy for your sister,” and she had had more than one of Dawn’s friends hit her with the classic, “Today isn’t about you, you know”. _I know_ , she retorted bitterly, but there was no point in telling them that it wasn’t her fault.

Had she _asked_ to be the one to shuttle guests from the nearby hotel at the crack of dawn that morning? No, but she’d been stuck doing it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t meant that she had knocked on her own fiancé’s door to surprise him, only to have a woman she didn’t recognize answer. She’d caught a glimpse of Roland, stark naked and panicked as he emerged from the bathroom, then quickly rushed back inside and slammed the door shut. The interloper who answered the door had been confused, but Marianne had been too livid to explain. Instead she had stormed back to the rental van, forced to wait in quiet fury for everyone _including_ Roland and whoever-the-fuck to put on their damn clothes and climb aboard.

She drove rigidly back to the venue, completely ignoring Roland as she threw it into park and slammed the door. After that she’d stood with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, glaring at everyone and everything. If _anyone_ was guilty of making the day about themselves, it was Roland. She had darkened the far corner of the garden for around an hour by the time the wedding planner came along and shooed her away. She stalked over toward the row of tables currently being loaded with food, eyeing the punch bowl and hoping it was spiked.

As she moved across the garden, she heard Roland’s smug, stupid laugh ringing through the air, and couldn’t stop herself from throwing a dark glare over her shoulder in the bastard’s general direction. With her head turned, Marianne failed to notice the other guest currently headed for the same punch bowl, and before she knew what had happened, she had crashed into an unfamiliar chest,

“ _Oof!_ Oh, I’m— “ Marianne was half-way through her apology when two large hands took her by the shoulders and moved her roughly away from their owner,

“Watch where you’re going,” the man spat, glaring down at her. Marianne stared at him incredulously,

“ _Excuse_ me?” she asked, wishing Roland was around to deck so she could spare this stranger the humiliation,

“You’re excused,” he retorted flatly, sneering at her,

“What is your problem?” she snapped placing a hand firmly on her hip. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, then sighed,

“My problem is that you’re between me and my liquor, sweetheart,” he quipped exasperatedly, “I’m just after a drink, is that alright with you?” Marianne gestured sarcastically toward the drink table, glowering at him when he rolled his eyes and brushed past her. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded vaguely insulting, and Marianne practically stamped her foot as she spun around to look at him,

“You wanna run that by me again?” she said loudly, giving in to the desperate urge to pick a fight with someone, _anyone_. That mornings’ incident with Roland had left her absolutely seething, and unfortunately for _this_ guy, Marianne no longer had any buttons left un-pushed. The man turned around slowly, looking completely embittered,

"I _said w_ hat crawled up your arse and died?" he asked sarcastically, causing Marianne to fume,

"None of your damn business, that's what," she bit back, balling her hands into fists,

"Then kindly bugger off," he said, pushing past her, his shoulder knocking into hers. Marianne grit her teeth. Who _was_ this guy, anyway? She stomped over to him and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around and jostling his drink,

“Oi—“ He steadied the tumbler of whiskey teetering in his hand as Marianne let loose on him,

“Listen, buddy,this is my sister’s wedding, and if you think I’m going to let some high-and-mighty party crasher walk around like he owns the place, you’ve got another thing coming,” she jabbed a finger into his chest, pushing him back slightly. He rolled his eyes again,

“Look lass, if you're this riled up during your own sister's wedding, then I think it's safe to say that there's something going on that has absolutely nothing to do with me, or anyone else here" he snapped, surprised when the fire in the young woman's eyes began to waver. Marianne looked away, crossing her arms over her chest,

"Just _one_ person," she mumbled begrudgingly, mostly to herself. The man studied her expression for a moment, then nodded as though he understood,

"I take it your plus one is wandering around here somewhere without his invitation?" he asked, and Marianne let out a short, bitter laugh,

"He can go be someone else's plus one, I'm through with that asshole," she said bitterly. The tall stranger thought for a few seconds, then quickly nodded to himself and reached behind them toward the table. A tumbler of whiskey matching the one the man already held suddenly appeared in front of Marianne's face, and she blinked a couple times before taking it,

"Thanks," she said as the man clinked his glass against hers,

"To better tomorrows," he toasted, taking a swig. Marianne sipped hers gratefully, welcoming the way it burned her throat and nose,

"Cheers," she mumbled. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, watching the guests and enjoying the small reprieve. Marianne felt herself relax as the alcohol worked its magic, and was disappointed when her tumbler finally came up dry. Her companion chuckled,

"Another, lass?" he offered, and she smiled, holding out her glass,

"Please," sipping her refilled drink, she glanced over at her drinking buddy,

"So...how did you get in here anyway?" she asked, and the man huffed, 

I amnae a ‘party crasher’, princess, I’m _working_ ,” he said pointedly, and Marianne raised an eyebrow. After examining him for a moment, she smirked

“So what are you, a stripper?” she jabbed, stifling a laugh when the stranger nearly spat out his drink, “Sorry, the bachelorette party was last week,”

“I _beg_ your pardon,” he coughed, “but do I look like a bloody stripper to you?” he asked disbelievingly as Marianne made more of a show of looking him up and down,

“Well, you aren’t the photographer since you aren’t lugging a camera around, and you aren’t dressed like any caterer I’ve ever seen,” she mused, finding that she was actually becoming curious about the nature of his profession, “You’re dressed too informally to be an usher or a groomsman, and I know for a fact that we don’t have any family in Scotland,”

“So the best explanation you could come up with was _stripper_?” he inadvertently let out a quick laugh, quirking a smile that lit up his face. Marianne’s stomach did a tiny flip—he was actually rather attractive when he wasn’t scowling. His face was angular and defined, highlighted by his crystal-blue eyes. His dark hair was slicked back casually from his face, and it looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. The look worked for him, she could admit. Marianne gave the mysterious man a cocky grin,

“So am I right?” she asked, taking another sip of her drink. He considered her words for a moment before giving her an amused smirk,

“ _Half_ right, lass,” just then there came the squeal of feedback from the speakers on the stage, and Marianne’s father was tapping loudly against the mic,

“Testing, testing, hello!” he called jovially, spotting Marianne’s companion and waved him over,

“Half right?” Marianne asked as the man nodded and gulped down the rest of his whiskey,

“I am most certainly _not_ a stripper, but I _am_ the entertainment,” he winked at her, sending little butterflies fluttering through her stomach as he headed for the stage. Marianne’s curiosity was piqued as she watched him shake her father’s hand and adjust the microphone. He lowered the stand to the level of the chair he sat in, then reached into the case beside him and took out a strange-looking instrument.

Marianne was fascinated as he strapped a small bellows to his right arm, testing it against his side. It squeaked and honked as he placed a velvety-looking bag under his left arm, which was attached to the long wooden pipe he held in his hands. Another bundle of pipes protruded from the bag and lay across his chest, squeaking as he pumped air into the bag and squeezed. They let out a dissonant drone, but after he spent a few moments adjusting them, the sound became a low, suspenseful hum. Marianne’s breath caught as he flexed his fingers over the pipe and began to play a cheerful Celtic tune, and she was immediately enthralled.

His fingers flew deftly and lightening-fast over the holes in the pipe, weaving intricate trills into the melody so quickly that Marianne couldn’t even see it. He moved as he played, tapping his right foot enthusiastically with the beat and squeezing the bellows and bag in a slightly off-set rhythm. It was captivating, and before she knew it she had made her way to the table nearest the stage and sat down to watch and listen intently. Everyone around her had jumped up to dance, and Marianne had hardly noticed the drummer and guitarist that joined the piper on the stage. She was in complete awe, but when the reel transformed into something a bit slower and the man began to _sing_ , she thought she might faint.

_“Step we gaily on we go,_

_Heel for heel and toe for toe,_

_Arm in arm and row and row,_

_All for Mhairie’s wedding,”_

He sang, the other band members joining in, and Marianne felt her cheeks heat up; she was starting to feel just a little bit guilty about picking a fight with him. He glanced up at her for half a second, and she realized her mouth was hanging open. She snapped it closed, and saw his grin widen just a bit as his attention returned to the tune. She looked behind her at the dance floor, smiling as she caught sight of her sister and her new husband twirling around in each other’s arms. She was so glad that Dawn had found such a loving, dependable man to marry. She deserved to be happy.

Just as Marianne began to reflect on her own love life, she spotted Roland weaving through the crowd toward her, and she grimaced,

“No way in _hell_ ,” she muttered angrily, rising from her seat and darting quickly into the cover of the crowd. Several minutes of stealth later Marianne felt she had successfully evaded Roland, but regretted losing her seat near the stage. The music continued merrily, shifting smoothly from one tune to the next until a set of five or six was completed. Marianne could see the piper sweating from her hiding spot at a table near the back, and he wiped his forehead with a cloth as he turned to banter with his band mates. Marianne smiled in spite of herself, hoping she would have another chance to talk with him.

* * *

 

A little less than an hour later the band took a break, and the guests clapped and cheered as the musicians hopped off of the stage. Her mystery man trod back over the to the refreshments. She poked her head up warily, glancing around for any sign of Roland, then made a bee line for the drink table. He had settled for water this time around, she noticed, and the sight of his head tilted back as he swallowed languidly made her shiver. She was halfway to her destination when Roland suddenly materialized in front of her,

"Listen, Buttercup, we need to talk," he said, putting his hands out to his sides, blocking her attempts at escape,

"I have  _nothing_ to say to you, you prick," she growled, shoving his arms away. She tried to storm past him, but he grabbed her arm and spun her around,

"No, listen to me! This morning was a mistake," he gripped her arm roughly as she tried to yank it away,

"Let go of me, Roland! This whole  _relationship_ was a mistake, you pompous, lying, cheating sorry sack of--"

"Woah there, darlin'," came a calm brogue from behind her, and she swiveled her head to her right to see the piper staring Roland down. He casually wrapped his left arm around her shoulder as took another swig of water, "causin' trouble are ye?" he quipped, and Roland blanched,

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, giving the man a condescending once-over,

"Bog Thornhill, rather displeased to meet ye," he said bluntly, causing Roland to stutter angrily,

"Well back off, pal, my _fiancee_ and I are having a private conversation," he yanked Marianne toward him sharply, causing her to stumble. She landed hard on the marble tile dance floor, crying out as the heel of her shoe snapped, twisting her ankle painfully,

"Shit!" she hissed, rolling over to reach for her ankle. Roland stepped toward her as she examined her injury, but Bog was in between them in an instant, "What the fuck, Roland?!" she asked, gritting her teeth against the throbbing in her foot, "We are  _over_. End of discussion!"

"You're leaving me over that?! It was a one time thing! I'm never even going see her again!" Roland said, flustered. The disturbance had drawn the attention of some of the guests, and he looked around in a panic, "It wasn't  _my_ fault, she--" he was cut off by Bog grabbing him by the collar,

"Get off on humiliating women, do ye?" he snarled, and Roland's eyes went wide,

"We're  _engaged_ , I can talk to her how I want," he sneered. Marianne could practically see Bog's blood boiling as he actually  _lifted Roland off the ground_ and carried him to the garden gate and shoved him beyond it. Roland landed hard on his backside, and Bog glared down at him,

"If you think that's what what marriage is, then you clearly have no business being here. And ye certainly donnae deserve a lady like her," he motioned with his thumb back toward Marianne, who's face turned red as nearly every guest's eyes were immediately on her. Roland had no chance to respond before Bog had slammed the gate soundly in his face. As he walked toward a gawking Marianne, Dawn came bouncing to the front of the crowd that had gathered,

"What happened?" she exclaimed, eyeing Marianne, who had been helped into a nearby chair, suspiciously. Marianne hardly knew what to say,

"Roland, he," she paused, and Dawn's features softened,

"Are you two fighting again?" she walked over to her sister so they could talk more privately, shooing away the prying eyes of her guests, "What's going on? What did he do?" Marianne shook her head, plastering on a smile,

"Don't worry about it, today is about you," she patted her sister's shoulder, but Dawn wasn't having it,

"Marianne, I keep telling you to dump that dirtbag, he's such a sleeze when you aren't watching," she scolded, "I swear, I'm going to throw him out if he can't get his shit together!"

"Already taken care of," Bog said as he reached them, adjusting his sleeves where they lay rolled at his elbows,

"What do you mean?" Dawn asked, looking Bog up and down,

"Sent him on his way," Bog replied simply, giving Marianne a sidelong smirk. Dawn's eyes suddenly lit up,

" _Oh_ , you're Bog Thornhill, right? The piper?" she asked excitedly, bouncing on her toes, "You're so talented, I was so blown away!" Bog's cheeks turned a little pink at her enthusiasm--he had never been particularly good at handling praise,

"Ah, thank you very much. Congratulations, Mrs. Brighton," he said with a quiet chuckle, giving her a respectful nod,

"Well, thank  _you_ very much for getting rid of that...anyway, thank you for keeping an eye on my sister," she beamed, and Marianne scoffed,

"Dawn, he's not a babysitter. Roland was making a scene and Mr. Thornhill took care of it, end of story," Bog made a face at the way she referred to him. He was surely at least teen years older than her, but tacking 'mister' onto his name made him feel ancient,

" _Mr. Thornhill_? Please, lass, for the love of heaven, call me Bog," he looked down at her with a snarky smile, and Marianne flushed slightly under his gaze. He was  _so_ tall, especially from where she sat, but an instant later he has knelt down to examine her ankle,

"Tell me if ye feel any pain," he said, carefully removing her shoe and gently running his fingers over her skin. His touch was warm as he carefully applied pressure in different places, a few of which made Marianne wince,

"It doesnae seem to be sprained," he mumbled, gently lowering her foot back down to the ground, "Ye'll be fine, but I recommend icing it and staying sat for a while," he reached up and patted her knee comfortingly, but the feeling of intimacy in his touch sparked between them, and they both turned red as he rose and cleared his throat,

"I'll be 'round after the next set to check on ye," he said with a bashful grin, and Marianne smiled back. Her eyes were the color of caramel and chocolate, so warm and deep and that Bog felt he might get lost if he looked for too long,

"Thank you," she said softly,

"Please, lass," he winked again, and Marianne's heart stuttered in her chest,

"You're fantastic, you know," she said quickly before he could turn to head back toward the stage. Bog's entire face reddened, and he nodded with a small, bewildered grin of thanks before turning to leave. Marianne had, of course, meant to compliment his piping, but as the opportunity to correct herself came and went, she realized with a start that she may have meant it exactly the way she said it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to make this into a one shot, but It feels more natural at this point to break it up into two separate parts. 'Till Next time!
> 
> Ps. Fun fact, I'm a piper myself!


End file.
